


Lonely in your nightmare

by Rebel_Captain



Series: And it feels like home. [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beheading, Childbirth, F/M, Infant Death, Rape, Robb has a nightmare, Roslin comforts him, death during childbirth, not that Robb knows that yet, really sensitive topics, sibling incest but not really because they're cousins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 20:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebel_Captain/pseuds/Rebel_Captain
Summary: He clutches his neck, trying to breathe.--------------Season 1 AU





	Lonely in your nightmare

"Robb?"

The voice is ever familiar. It's slightly deeper than it had been when he had last seen her, but he recognises it all the same. He recognises it from when she'd come to his bed with tears in her eyes from a nightmare. When she would run up to him, cling onto the end of his sleeve and beg him to be her knight for a game, he would roll his eyes but he never refused her. He never could refuse his baby sister with her sweet smiles, her naievety. Let her cling onto her dreams of knights and true love; her dream of spring.

Sweet Sansa.

"Yes?" he asks her, looking up at her. She looks like their mother. The resemblance has only grown since he last saw her. But now there's a furrow to his sister's brow, one heart breakingly similar to their father. "What is it, sister?"

"Why didn't you save me?" she asks him. A faint red line starts showing from her neck, it gets redder, and redder and... blood spills forth from the line, until Sansa's head falls from her body to the snow beneath his feet. _When did it begin snowing?_ He stumbles back, but her icy blue eyes remain on him. "You left me to die, Robb. Do I mean so little to you?" 

"Sansa- no, that's not-" he chokes out, feeling like he may vomit at any moment. "You're my baby sister-" 

"Who you left to die in King's Landing." she whispers, blood pooling around her head. This time, he does vomit. 

"Please-" he begs. He doesn't know what he's begging for- for it to stop? For her head to go back to where it belongs? For her to just shut up? He watches as winter roses bloom from the snow, blades of grass peaking through.

"It's my dream of spring." she whispers, eyes beginning to glaze over. "Don't you see, Robb? Isn't it beautiful?"

Footsteps crunch in the snow, and Robb's eyes widen at the figure picking up his sister's head.

_Jon._

"Jon!" he shouts, scrambling to stand up. Jon doesn't hear him. In fact, he seems to be having a silent conversation with Sansa, the pair only looking at each other. Yet Robb knows they know what the other is thinking.

"Sweet Sansa," Jon whispers, expression ever so soft. Robb's gut churns even more once he recognises the look; father had looked at mother like that all the time. "I'll protect you, I promise." 

 _You have to protect him,_ an unknown voice whispers from the air.

"Jon-" he is again unheard.

"You're the only one I trust to." Sansa whispers back, and before Robb can do anything, the pair are locking lips. Robb stares with pure _horror_ , watching his half brother kiss _their_ sister's head, watching her blood drip onto Jon's black doublet. The blood leaves red marks on the black fabric, and before Robb can recognise the pattern, the scene disappears before him.

* * *

Arya is unimpressed.

"You really do have to get over yourself, Robb." she says with a sigh, flicking her short hair out of her eyes. When did it get so short? What the hell had he missed? "Sansa might not be able to defend herself, but I can. I don't need you rushing in to save the day." she huffs, crossing her arms.

He is gone before he can say a word.

It almost makes him smile. Arya never changes.

* * *

 

Bran falls. This time, he doesn't wake up.

* * *

 

Rickon is running. Running. _Running_. He never stops.

* * *

 

He dreams of being butchered at a wedding. His wife dies before him. She is not Roslin, but he mourns her all the same.

Mother's throat is cut and as she screams, the blood pools.

They rape her and throw her naked body into the river, metaphorically spitting on the Tully funeral traditions. 

He wargs into Grey Wind, but he dies too.

* * *

 

There's screaming from behind a door. Robb recognises it to be Roslin's, even though he has never heard such a sound from her before. She is in agony, and she's screaming for him.

Robb tries to open the door. Locked. He slams his body against it, and it never budges. He panics. He has to get to Roslin, he _needs_ to- she needs him, he needs her. Needs to know that she's _safe_. Something inside him nearly snaps at the thought of her being anything but. 

The door opens, and he's greeted by a maester cradling a still thing.

_Oh._

Robb stares at the baby, its face is pale, its lips are blue. He doesn't know how long he stares, but by the time he looks at Roslin, the bed is covered in blood. _Soaked_ in it. Her face is grey, and her brown eyes stare at him.

He screams.

* * *

Robb sits up with a gasp, sweat soaking through his linen bed shirt. He clutches his neck, trying to breathe. Breathe- _Roslin_. Where is she? He frantically looks around him, before looking down. Oh. Right.

She's curled up on her side of the cot, shivering. He'd taken the furs. Again. He stares at her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. She's safe, here beside him. He swings his legs over the side of the cot, resting his head in his hands. Already, the nightmare is beginning to fade from his mind. He only remembers the terror he felt.

A gentle hand rests between his shoulder blades, and he finds himself tensing.

"Robb?" Roslin whispers, and he relaxes. He peers at her over his shoulder. Her eyes are tired, there are dark circles under them. They've been living in a tent for nearing three moons now, he's not surprised at the lack of sleep. Her hair is falling out of its braid, her nightgown slipping off of one shoulder. He's never seen a more beautiful sight. "Are you alright?"

"Just a nightmare." he tells her, and her hand begins lightly moving up and down his back. "Go back to sleep." 

She ignores him, shifting to sit up properly. She gently takes his face in her hands, turning him to face her. "You didn't answer my question, Robb." she points out, gently sweeping her thumbs along his cheekbones.

"I'm fine," he says, staring into her eyes. Sometimes, he feels as though he could fall into them. "I didn't mean to wake you." he apologises, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, briefly burrowing his nose in her hair. He pulls back, unable to help glancing down at her lips. He returns his gaze to her eyes though. "Go back to bed." he whispers, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

"You should get some sleep too. Can't be commanding armies when you look about ready to collapse with exhaustion." she reminds him, undoing and redoing her braid. He finds himself oddly mesmerised with the way she does it. She shifts to lay back down, pulling some of the furs over her. "Lay down, Robb."

He does as he says, staring up at the top of their tent. Roslin's fingers begin lightly drifting up and down his arm; her touch feather light. Robb turns to look at her, and finds her studying a scar on his collarbone. "How'd you get it?" she asks, looking up into his eyes.

"A fight with Theon." he says, sighing faintly. "It was stupid, really. Over something I can't even remember." he remembers Theon apologising for days after it, for fear of being punished for hurting the heir to Winterfell.

"I have one here," she says, lifting up her hand to show him her palm. A faint line runs across it. "I was seven and I fell off my horse and straight into my brothers sword practice." she smiles, shaking her head. "Olyvar was so angry with me. Mostly for getting hurt."

Robb hums, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. Roslin's cheeks flush, not that he'll be able to see it in the dark. The pair lay in silence for a few more minutes.

"We should get to sleep." she whispers, and he turns his head to face her. Their noses brush.

Robb swallows, nodding. "We should." he agrees. If he moves his head just so, his lips will brush hers. But... he doesn't. Instead, Robb wraps his arms around her, and she stills, before shifting so that she's curled into his side. She rests her head on his chest, and Robb buries his nose in her hair.

"Goodnight, Robb." she mumbles against his skin. _Gods_ , he thinks, his skin tingling at the touch, _she's trying to kill me._

"Goodnight, Roslin."

It ends up being the best sleep he's had in months.

 


End file.
